Poetry of sorts

Pink Horizon

                        The color of rose surround,
                   the smell of strawberry lingers.
                The area is quiet, barely any sound,
            only the swaying of grass on the ground.

                          Clouds as fluffy as cotton,
                     Strawberries as large as pans.
                           Pink can't be forgotten,
                               for the color spans.

                                 The air like fruit,
                               the ground uneven.
                              A presence appears,
           and some can guess it's friends and Steven.

                                Once a battlefield,
                       now became a pink horizon.
                           Where the quiet stays,
                         and the fruit will linger.
                      This will always be its way.
          
                                 Every single day,
                      the light will follow the night.
                        The pink horizon will stay,
                     for its fight and plight ended.
              
                                 Now we can lay,
                                on grass so pink.
                             We'll sit till we stay,
                         falling so deep we sink,
                deep into sleep, on grass so pink.